Peeta's Games
by Lyla Grey
Summary: The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins written from Peeta Mellark's POV. Peeta, the baker's boy from District 12 fears for his life, as does every other child in Panem. It's reaping day, and a boy and girl from each District shall be called to their certain death. The only thing worse than Peeta's own name being called, is the name of his unrequited love. Katniss Everdeen.
1. Waking Up

**Well, this is my first ever attempt at writing a fanfiction! It's supposed to be The Hunger Games from Peeta's POV. I started this in about March last year, but I never did anything with it, I didn't even get past the first chapter. I don't know how the story will progress, but I may include 'should have been' scenes that weren't actually in the books. Anyway, please review, and let me know what you think - all feedback will be appreciated and taken into account!**

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When I wake up, the smell of freshly baked bread greets me, it seems to be constantly present in my house. My eyes start to open slowly, adjusting to the light. Whilst I systematically heave my body to a sitting position, I think about the dream I have just left behind. The dream I leave behind every morning. The dream of Katniss Everdeen.  
I go over to the open window, and draw back the thin pale curtains, expecting to see the usual hustle and bustle of the merchant section of District 12 but I was surprised to see a distinct lack of any movement. Of course there wasn't any movement. Today is reaping day.

My movements are more solemn from now, all my limbs seem to become stiff and unwilling. Although my name will only be in five times today, I can't help but speculate the possibilities. When I'm not dreaming of the girl in the rain, I am having nightmares about Effie Trinket reading my name in that stupid Capitol accent.

I make my way through my small but sturdy home, brushing the cream painted walls lightly with my fingers as I pass. Sometimes I wish I could just paint something on these plain walls, bring a bit of life to the monotony of the cream and brown colour scheme. Mother would never allow it though and it would probably earn me a slap across the face. Besides, the only thing I could think of drawing would be her. Sitting behind the shop, quivering and helpless, soaked through to the bone. Singing in her red dress that first day at school. Picking the first dandelion of spring. She's all I ever really think about, it's quite sad really considering she never looks at me for more than half a second.

'Hey, son.' My dad calls out to me from the threadbare couch. 'You're up early, it's reaping day you know. No-one will be coming to buy anything after twelve, so that means no work.'  
'I'm sure Mom will be thrilled about that.' I don't make an attempt to hide the sarcasm in my tone.  
'Peeta, don't talk about your mother that way.' His voice was serious but his smile was apparent. I returned it half-heartedly, my mind still on the five slips of paper that could mean my certain death.  
'What's the matter, son?' He already knew though, it's been the same way ever since my first reaping.

The first one was the worst, I couldn't stop shaking and sweating. Even when they called some other boy's name out, I was too transfixed in my own emotional trauma to even remember his name. All I remember was the look of utter despair on his face that was clear to see on the huge screens that stood either side of the Justice Building. Soon his eyes locked on a girl a few rows back who was sobbing uncontrollably and suddenly his expression became fierce and determined. I didn't understand back then, but now I know he was preparing himself for the biggest struggle of his life just so he could come back to the girl he loved.

He didn't come back though. I remember watching painfully as he had his eyes pecked out by a strange bird that was obliviously a mutation of the Gamemaker's creation. After that he tried to carry on, probably for his girl back home, but without sight to guide him to food or water, he perished within a day or two.  
I see the hysterical girl from time to time whilst I'm in the Seam. Her dark eyes are always so unaware of her surroundings, like all the purpose in her life had vanished a long time ago.

I slump down heavily on the chair adjacent to where my farther still lies. 'It's the same as every year, dad.'  
He nods his head morosely to show that he understands, then swings his legs around to then steady himself on his thin legs. He gives me a hopeful smile and ruffles my hair playfully as he walks to the kitchen. 'Not to worry you boy, but you can't go to the Capitol looking like that now, can you?'  
He was right, of course, everyone had to be in their best-dressed for reaping day. It reminded me of a funeral.

I resigned myself back to my bedroom, where I picked out a plain pair of light brown dress pants and a blue shirt and begrudgingly slipped them on after scrubbing the dough from underneath my finger nails and eradicating all dirt from my body. After this, I went to the small rectangular ornate mirror that had been a wedding present for my parent's from some relative or another and slicked my messy blonde hair out of my eyes and into a small quiff on the top of my head. I hated it that way, but my mom said it looked better than having my hair dangling in front of my face like an overgrown hedge. Always the charmer, my mother.

Just before I had to leave the house, I slipped on a pair of dark leather shoes and tied them securely in a double knot. Although I doubt it will protect me from my name my drawn, at least I can guarantee I won't fall on my face on my way up there.

'Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favour!' I sardonically whispered to myself as I stepped out of the door.


	2. Young Flower

I find my way to the square without having to concentrate, the babble of the crowd leading me more effectively than my eyes could. I nod curtly at my friends from school without really paying attention to it, I wave back at those who wave at me. I even stop and have a brief conversation with Delly Cartwright who, despite the sombre atmosphere still has an exuberant smile affixed on her face.

'Good afternoon, Peeta.'

'Afternoon, Delly. How are you?'

'Fine, fine. How are you? You look.. distracted.'

She was right, I was distracted. I was sweeping the crowd for Katniss and her little sister, Prim, of whom she acted like a mother to, when Delly interrupted me just as my eyes settled on the swinging of a long dark braid. By the time I had looked back, the two girls had disappeared.

'Oh, it's nothing. Just the same as every reaping I suppose.'

'Ah, it'll be okay, Peeta. I'm sure the odds will be in your favour.'

'Thank you, Delly. The same to you.'

With that, I stalked off and found my place within the lines of the other 16 year old boys and stood firmly. I restarted my search for Katniss whilst the other eyes around me were all focused on Mayor Undersee, a gangly and sparsely-haired man, who had just stepped up on to the podium as the bell tolled two.

'War. Terrible war. An uprising that shifted a nation.' At this point I gave up my fruitless search and turned to watch the film reel I've seen sixteen times already. The mayor continued, 'This uprising devastated the whole of Panem. Brother turned against brother and all hope seemed to be lost. Until the Capitol arose from the ashes of the Dark Days and they quelled the rebellious districts. Twelve were defeated. One of destroyed forever. Now, in accordance with the Treaty Of Treason: In penance for their uprising, each district shall offer up one male and one female between the ages of twelve and eighteen as tributes. These tributes shall be delivered to The Capitol and shall be placed in an arena to fight to the death until a lone victor remains. Henceforth and forevermore this pageant shall be known as The Hunger Games.'

I could probably recite this speech myself now, and I'm sure the pieces of paper clenched in Mayor Undersee's hands are mainly just for show. Although he is meant to respect the wishes of The Capitol, I can see the revulsion in his face as the thought of sending another two children to their deaths. I think I can also see a hint of fear in his eyes, a fear that his daughter may be the one that is whisked off and put at the mercy of The Capitol.

In reality, we are all at the mercy of The Capitol. They control our lives completely. Isn't that what The Hunger Games are really about? Showing us they are our masters? Asserting their power?  
Fair enough, they give one person the chance to return to a cushy lifestyle in Victor's Village, never to want for anything again, but isn't a small ray of false hope worse than the fear they can instil on us? I certainly think it can be. Hope can lead to heart-crushing disappointment. Hope gives you dreams and then turns them to ash.

'It is both a tie for repentance and a time for thanks, and we are thankful to those who have brought glory to our district; Amelia Stoat and Haymitch Abernathy.' As if acting on cue, Haymitch then stumbled on to the stage, clearly inebriated by alcohol, and practically fell into one of the three chairs that were positioned on the stage. Effie Trinket shot a disgusted look at him as he tried to wrap her in a sloppy embrace. She got up quickly, as though she was trying to avoid catching his clumsiness and brushes down her vile green suit to erase creases that weren't even there.

I stare at the faces of these three people, they were each an embodiment of their titles: Mayor Undersee wore a furrowed brow that showed his embarrassment at being in charge of the only district that had a drunkard as their lone remaining victor. Haymitch was everything a lone victor should be: disorientated, lost, and oblivious to the world that turned him into a monster. Finally we have Effie Trinket, the perfect Capitol citizen with her sugar-pink wig, which was now off balance thanks to Haymitch, and her putrid green suit that contrasted against her teeth to make them even more blindingly white. I realised at this moment that I hate everything the Capitol stand for, from their garish taste in clothing to their bloodlust that causes 23 innocent children to be slaughtered for their viewing pleasure.

If I were to ever be picked, I promised myself that I wouldn't be just another part in their Hunger Games.

Effie steps up to the platform after an introduction from Mayor Undersee and beams her biggest smile at the audience. Her tone is light and cheerful, a complete contrast to every other voice, apart from maybe Delly's, on reaping day. 'Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever _in your favour!' I tune out for the supposedly heartfelt speech on how much she loves working with District 12.

Instead I look around for Katniss. I spot her quite easily amongst the other sixteen year old girls, never a one to blend in. I notice her gaze is directed somewhere behind me and I immediately decide she must be looking at Gale Hawthorn. I would never wish somebody to be named as tribute but I think I might be able to work up the courage to at least talk to Katniss if he was out of the way.

Through my jealous musings, I barely notice Effie plunge her hand into the bowl of girls' names and pull out a white slip.

I only think to look around when I see Katniss' face drop in despair.  
The huge screens project a girl that holds the exact same expression at Katniss but instead of dark, both her eyes and hair are light.

It's Primrose Everdeen.


	3. Stepping Up

**Okay, guys! Now that I'm three chapters in, I really need to know what you all think. I've had a couple of reviews, and they've been positive, but I need some more incentive to keep writing. I'm doing my GCSEs at the minute so it's hard to find time to write, so I need to know that it's worth my while. Please follow, favourite or review if you want Peeta's games to continue or even review to let me know if I should try my hand at a different genre of Fanfiction.**

**Thank you all for reading, I hope you are enjoying it!**

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_**Chapter 3 - Stepping Up**_

I don't know how to feel. Katniss is safe. But will she really be happy without her baby sister? Prim could never survive the Capitol treatment, she could never win the Games. But she was practically raised by Katniss, maybe she knows some of her hunting skills. Maybe she's almost as good with the bow and arrow. She's intelligent too, I think the careers would probably leave her alone, think she wasn't worth their time. She might be able to just wait it out, just survive for long enough until all of the strong ones had butchered each other. Maybe, that way, she could survive.

I see Katniss start to tumble backwards, her grief consuming her, making her buckle at the knees. A boy grabs her, and steadies her on her feet. I can't help but notice that he lets his arm linger there, even when she is upright.

I wonder how many slips Prim would have had. One, two maybe? I doubt Katniss would allow her to risk her life for grain and oil, and this is her first year. Only one slip then. One slip in thousands. Why did it have to be her? Katniss' sister.

'Prim!' Katniss has found her voice, and she screams her sister's name as she pushes her way through the throng of aghast faces. Although they are happy that it isn't them, nobody wants to see someone so young die a horrific death at the hands of strangers.

As she wails again, in a voice full of agony, the crowd of children part in swift movement. She runs at full speed towards the stage, towards her little sister who seems completely unaware of anything but putting one foot in front of the other. In what seems like seconds, she reaches Prim, and thrusts her behind her back, as if she can fend off an army of Peacekeepers to save Prim's life.

The next words to come from her mouth send a ripple of confusion over the now agog audience, and a plummeting sense of despair in my stomach.

'I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!'

She can't. This can't be happening. She can't go to her death _voluntarily, _that's just absurd! She must know what this means, she has no chance! The odds are not in her favour.

Effie Trinket tries to smooth things over with a too-sweet laugh and a too-bright smile. She starts to drivel about 'proper proceedings' and 'protocols'. The mayor interrupts her, 'What does it matter?' He's giving Katniss this odd look, a mixture of pity, despair and relief. He must know Katniss, or Madge must know her. Madge, the mayor's daughter. That's why he's relieved, it's not her that is standing on a stage broadcasting her fierce acceptance of death throughout all of Panem.

'What does it matter?' He puffs again, 'Let her come forward.'

Prim, who has turned a sickly green-white colour, begins wailing, sounding much like Katniss did before her. She grabs Katniss around the waist, clutching on to her desperately. 'No, Katniss!,' Her name cuts through me like ice, 'No! You can't go!'

'Prim, let go,' Katniss says, sharply. All of the love has been wiped from her voice, she is a complete contrast to the screaming, distraught girl of only a couple of minutes ago. 'Let go!' The word is a command. She looks strong, I think. She is already playing the Games.

I start to move, not knowing why I haven't earlier. I begin to push my way through the crowd of confused children, heading for the stage. Somebody gets to my goal before me. Gale Hawthorn. He extracts Prim from Katniss' waist, although her arms are still desperately reaching for her sixteen year old sister. He says something to her that I don't quite catch, but he sounds in pain. I know that he loves her too, maybe just as much as I do.

'Well, bravo!' Effie, that stupid Capitol bitch, squawks, beside herself with delight, 'That's the spirit of the Games!' I can tell she's just loving this. District 12, and thusly, her face, will get extra time when the Reapings are broadcast. She is loving the destruction of a family.

'What's your name?' Effie spills, leaning closely to Katniss with the microphone.

'Katniss Everdeen.'

'I bet my buttons that was your sister! Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!'

Everybody is silent. This is the only way we can disobey the Capitol. Nobody moves an inch.

Suddenly, I get an idea, an old idea of thanks and admiration. I've seen it used at funeral in the Seam, it means goodbye to someone that you love. I bring the three middle fingers of my left hand up to my lips, and then hold my arm out defiantly into the air. I can feel everybody else in the crowd begin to see Katniss the way I have seen her for years. She is a gift, a treasure to the Earth, and everybody realise that this precious, beautiful girl is being sent to her death for the pleasure of the Capitol.

I think I see Katniss' resolution falter momentarily at the sight of our salute, when Haymitch comes stumbling across the stage, giving her time to regain her composure.

'Look at her. Look at this one!' He probably doesn't realise how loud he is being, and he is far too drunk to care. 'I like her!' He slurs, draping his arms around her shoulders. 'Lots of.. spunk!' A smile comes across his face, 'More than you!', he looks like a mischievous child, 'More than you!' He screams into a Capitol camera. Seconds later, he's lying on the ground unconscious after falling less than gracefully from the stage.

Katniss has a wistful look on her face as Haymitch is carted off on a stretcher. She's looking out over the hills at the edge of the District, I wonder if she's thinking of running away. I quickly dismiss the fact, she is not the type to run away from her responsibilities. She would never leave her family behind.

I'm too busy looking at Katniss, marvelling at how beautiful she looks even though her dress is creased and her hair is beginning to fall from its tightly coiled design. I am too busy looking at the almost unnoticeable crease above her brow and wishing I could stride up to her and smooth it out with a kiss. I am too busy looking at the girl who would never be mine to notice Effie delve her perfectly painted cyan nails into the second ball of white slips. I don't notice that she calls the name of the male tribute from District 12.

'Peeta Mellark!'


End file.
